From Ashes
by Sogo
Summary: America is long gone, dead in the wake of Panem's rise. Only some beings remember, and they have been waiting for a very long time for America to rise again. Only... something goes wrong. (Contains OCs and slight US/UK in the last scene, but you can skip that if you want.)


**I don't really know where this came from, but a while ago the idea just sort of struck me and told me that it really needed to be written. So I decided that I'd better just write the damn thing. This is the result.**

 **I've seen people do lots of things with the Hunger Games and Hetalia, but I've never seen this. So I hope you enjoy!**

 _ **From Ashes**_

Madeline is watching the television in some kind of shock. She is unsure of how exactly to react to this, to the end, to all of their plans not just disappearing but crashing and burning in a horrid wreck of flames and twisted metal.

They had planned for so many things. But they had not planned for this.

So many years had passed, years that they had waited, had bided their time, knowing, somehow, _impossibly_ that the single person they had been waiting for would arrive. And after locating them, after wait for them to grow, after so many years, _this_.

She is not the only one watching. Across this awful country, there are others observing the same way she is, and all of them reach the same conclusion. Everything is about to change. The end game has begun.

Each and every one of them know that it's time.

This farce of a country has started it by calling her name, the first of twenty-four to be called that day to participate in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

 _Amelia F. Jones_.

Madeline thinks, for a moment, how she, and any of the others, would gladly volunteer as tribute if they were there, but nobody is. None of them can stop this, she thinks.

She is still in shock as the next name is called, a name she doesn't pay attention to, but then a familiar voice startles her out of her revery.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Madeline takes another moment to put the pieces together as the boy climbs onto the stage, giving his name as Alexander Jones (no relation). And then she realizes that Alex is absolutely brilliant and they might just pull this off after all. And she knows that across the country, so many others are reaching the same conclusion.

And she switches the television off to practically fly to the town square, each step reducing her age from what was a woman of thirty or forty to a child of closer to fourteen.

She has a game to volunteer for.

HGH

It was during the last revolt that it happened.

The revolting districts didn't know that there was more going on under the surface than they thought, the same way the American people didn't know there was more going on during the second civil war. Trickery and isolationism had found the nation known as America deposed for the one called Panem. But America was still alive, as Panem had discovered during the revolt.

All of them could remember the end, Panem mercilessly bombing the Thirteenth District as he simultaneously stabbed America through the heart.

There had been a body. They had cried over it, hiding both it and themselves away from Panem before he got anymore ideas. America was strong nation before he'd died, and there was a chance, a small chance that the people still believed in him, whether they knew him by name or not. There was a small chance that that very belief would be enough to bring him back.

Alex was the one who had found him, over half a century later. Only he wasn't a him any longer. He had been reborn a she.

It wasn't completely unexpected. It was recorded as happening before, mostly in the African nations that fought civil wars almost constantly, replacing one warlord with another. None of them had thought it would happen to America, but they would roll with the punches. They just had to wait until the now young girl had grown enough to remember who and what she was.

And then her name had been called in the reaping.

Alex has always been quick on his feet, adjusting to new ideas rapidly and the former state of New York quickly puts together half a dozen plans of how to get out of this. And then he decides instead to use it.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

And across the nation that had once been theirs, the forty-seven other states hear and answer his call.

HGH

Albert considers how to use this new situation. He is, after all, the defacto leader of the former states. As the former District of Columbia, it is only natural that his siblings look to him, and he is much more calculating on how to maneuver the chess pieces in order to ensure this win.

The states have been busy even as they waited. As soon as Alex had reported his sighting of the new America, they took up important positions across the nation, lying in wait for this call that has now come.

The former capital has to weigh the positions they each hold and which other twenty-two he can sacrifice. Which positions are not vital to this new plan?

And within moments, he is broadcasting instructions to each of them, instructing them using not the radios or telephones but the very land itself. The way they had once contacted each other before the wars, an ability they hold because they are, after all, all part of the same country.

And he begins to broadcast to them the new plans.

HGH

Amelia does not understand what is happening.

She knows Alex, vaguely, even though she does not recall ever meeting him before. Something about him screams to her that he is familiar, that he is a friend, and she does not understand why.

But Alex is nice. Which is even harder to understand.

She is a Career, trained from a young age for the express purpose of fighting in the Games. She has always felt different from the others, but believed that was because she disliked the killing that her fellow Careers have never had a problem with. When her name was called, no one stepped up because it is her right to be a tribute, a honor she has earned.

Alex is not.

So she does not understand why he has stepped up to fight. As the first to volunteer, he of course does have the right to become tribute, but in doing so has broken a thousand traditions, made hundreds of social faux paus, and denied someone who has trained their whole life for this their moment of glory.

Does he not understand that by volunteering he has shamed both himself and his family?

But Alex does not seem to realize this. Instead he wanders the train and eats the fancy food and rambles on about how nice the beds are and wouldn't it be nice to have those back home? And worst of all he is so _nice_ and she can't even hate him the way she is sure the rest of their district does.

She doesn't understand him. And she doesn't understand why he seems to be so determined to be her friend.

Amelia does not like it when she does not understand.

HGH

In District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen panics as the woman called Effie Trinket calls the name of her younger sister. She shouts in denial and is ready to leap into action when a voice halts her.

"I volunteer as tribute."

It is a scene repeating itself the world over and Katniss does not understand why this strange girl she has never seen before is volunteering. This girl with pale skin and light brown hair looks like she could be from the town, which might explain why Katniss does not know her.

She pushes a surprised Prim back towards her sister and walks up to the stage, face completely blank, like she is not signing her own death warrant. When asked, she says her name is Ginevra Saches.

Katniss does not know this, but the other states know her as Virginia.

After the boy is called another volunteer springs forward, this time a boy who looks like he could be from the Seam, and who cannot be older than Prim. He has olive skin and dark eyes, and his gaze is dark as he scans the silent crowds.

These are, after all, his people.

He gives his name as William Penn. Ginevra knows him as Pennsylvania.

Katniss is thankful for these people and resolves to go and tell them in person when they allow guests. For some reason, it is only her family and the family of the baker boy whose name had been called that go and see them.

Like there is no one else who knows them at all.

HGH

Alex and Amelia watch the other reapings together. The other states have all volunteered. A Hunger Games with twenty-three states and a nation. It would be interesting if they actually did fight to see who would come out on top, but Alex knows that they will not be fighting.

At least, they will not be fighting each other.

After him, each state gives a different last name, and Albert has been clever enough to not only select states in non-vital roles but also spread them out so they don't look completely like each other. Alex knows it would be rather confusing if both of the Carolina twins were reaped in two separate districts.

But Albert, like always, knows what he is doing. He has assigned each of the states a location to be reaped so that they do not stand out.

The reapings are already unusual enough with all but one tribute a volunteer, some from districts that have not had a volunteer in decades. They do not need to bring more eyes upon them.

Panem has not figured them out yet. Alex hopes that they can get far enough before he does.

HGH

They meet up as they are in costumes and preparing to ride into the training center on their chariots. Amelia is watching with narrowed eyes as Alex quietly talks to the female tribute of District Nine (Madeline Madison, another volunteer).

In fact, she notices that this year the tributes all seem to be surprisingly open with each other. There is none of the sizing up, the veiled threats, the calculations on who would be a good teammate. There are only the small smiles and introductions.

Amelia wonders when exactly the world turned upside down.

HGH

"You know, you don't have to be scared of them," Alex murmurs to her as they ride out into the crowds.

"I'm not scared," she lies.

"You won't die in the arena," he continues, as though he has not heard her. "I'll make sure of that."

"Why?" she asks. She still does not understand this boy who even draped in the silvery costumes they have been forced into, even looking every inch the part, does not fit in at all.

None of them do.

"Because any of us would lay down our life for you," he answers as though it were a simple everyday fact of life. "Because you are you. You are special."

"I'm not," she says so firmly she almost believes that she believes it. But she knows that she is different, and from Alex's expression, he knows she knows it as well.

"You've just forgotten a bit, that's all," he replies, and does not say anything more on the matter.

HGH

The other tributes do not train.

While the cameras are on them, they will mess around at the stations set up for them, making a token effort, but as soon as they look away, they are back at the tables, laughing and joking together like old friends (which they are, some part of Amelia tells her, but she doesn't listen to that part).

The worst part is that she finds she likes all of them.

Her training never prepared her for this. In just a few short weeks she is expected to enter an arena with all of these people and kill them. A fight to the death. For so long she was ready, but now that she is here, those faceless people she faced in her dreams have names and faces and are laughing and eating with her and she cannot shake the eerie feeling that she _knows_ them.

It takes her the first couple weeks to come to the conclusion that some part of her knew the moment she saw the rest of these tributes volunteering.

She cannot kill these people.

Alex is fun and witty and a little obnoxious at times. Madeline from Nine is nice and open and has a strange penchant for cheese and shares funny anecdotes of things she's done while drunk. Louie from Four is ridiculous and infuriating and sings funny songs that usually contain foul language and argues with Madeline over the best way to get drunk. George from Seven has a sharp wit and sharper tongue and argues frequently with his fellow tributes but all good naturedly.

Amelia cannot help but like them. They are not perfect, but no one is. They're so… so… _human_.

"I don't want the Games to come," she finally admits to Alex one day. "I don't want to fight you all."

"Then join our alliance," Alex offers.

She is surprised and confused. "You have an alliance? Who of?"

"Currently, it contains everyone but you," Alex admits cheerfully. "We were hoping to convert you before we got in there, though."

"But… who do you fight?" she asks, completely confused now.

He leans in close, as though imparting a great secret. "We don't. That's our great surprise. All these people volunteer for the Hunger Games, and then refuse to fight! It will be brilliant, don't you think?"

And Amelia can't help but get pulled along into his mad, crazy, _insane_ plan.

HGH

Dorothy "Gale" Jones adjusts her gloves nervously, feeling rather out of place in this mad glowing outfit. She was once known as a farmland, a land of _amber waves of grain_ , but now she is part of the Fifth District, which produces power for the capital.

She does not like that.

But she, as well as the others, play their parts when the cameras are on. She is playing the part of an innocent school girl, looking the age of twelve. It is a part she has played many times over the centuries.

She looks innocent enough in the white dress with glowing highlights, but the big doe eyes she gives the interviewer (a blue man called Caesar Flickerman) really sell the part.

On the inside, though, she is cheerfully imagining gruesome methods of execution she could use on this blue man and the Gamekeepers. She finds the more violent and painful they are, the easier her smiles come.

She is not known as "bleeding Kansas" for nothing.

HGH

Isaac "Newton" Jones finds his outfit ridiculous. He is part of the textile district, but still finds that odd. If anything, he should be part of one of the farming districts. He knows much more about farming than Madeline ever did.

She always liked her cows more than she liked her grains. And he was famous for amazing corn. In his heydays, he'd had hundreds of types.

But no, he is stuck with clothing. And cloth.

He plays the part of a friendly and amusing guy, a stark contrast to the previous male contestant (George)'s sharp wit. He smiles and laughs easily, joking and even flat out lying when it comes to his opinion of his outfit.

He tells Caesar that yes, the blue is a good color on him, and that he's quite proud of the work his district produces.

He is lying through his teeth.

So Isaac smiles and lies and all the while his eyes are staring daggers at the crowds, asking, " _Do you know how much I hate you? Do you know how easy it would be for me to kill you all? Have you any idea how much I would love to see you all up here in the hot seat, answering questions and preparing to die?_ "

Iowa has been called the heart of America. He was once an absolute pacifist. But now times have changed.

Iowa is ready for war. And as goes Iowa, so goes the nation.

HGH

Albert does not take part in the fighting. He never has and probably never will. No, his position is to guide the fighting, to plan and plot and scheme.

Already he is planning what will happen after they win. Perhaps it is premature, but Albert is using this as a backup plan as well.

The Civil War that created Panem did not extend to the rest of the world, and though the isolationism Panem has insisted on has caused most of the people to forget the other countries, Albert has not. He can still remember most of them, if not all, and though they have never known him, perhaps that was always for the best.

As far as Albert knows, none of the other countries had states. And America had always kept his children a secret. Because of this, Panem does not know of them. Perhaps that is the only reason they have survived this long.

They may be unaging, but with everything they once stood for gone, they each know that if they are killed, they will not be coming back.

But Panem doesn't know, as ignorant of the true nature of the United States as the rest of the world. Well, Albert has always had his doubts about Canada, but if the territories were personified, Matthew has done very well in keeping it under his hat.

There has been absolutely no contact with the outside world in ages. Albert is now seeking to rectify that.

He has to use an old phone that once belonged to Alfred, now an obsolete technology, but there is no other way to get a message out. He can only hope that those on the outside can still pick up his signal.

He has to use the preprogrammed numbers, as he has no idea what the numbers of the other nations could be. One of the first that catches his eye is given the name " _Iggy ;P_ ". Albert does not know a nation called Iggy, and suspects that his former father gave nicknames to people. It would be a very him thing to do.

So Albert hits the call button and waits in silence as the phone dials. And rings.

It is picked up on the second ring.

" _Who is this?! How did you get this number?!_ "

The accent is one Albert can place as belonging to the nation of England, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He has gotten through. Now all he has to do is convince them to listen.

"My name is Albert Jones. I represent the last of my people, the last rebels against the tyrannical government of the land once known as America. I am calling you using the phone of my father, Alfred F. Jones."

" _Alfred is there? Put him on!_ "

Albert winces, but knows he should have expected this. It has been a century and a half since the outside world has heard anything from any of them, and England clearly has not sensed what has occurred.

"I apologize, Mr. England, but my father is dead."

HGH

The nations are in the middle of a world conference when England gets the call. His reaction is at first sharp, which is to be expected. Who would be calling him that is not already here?

And then he asks to be put on the phone with Alfred.

No one has heard anything out of America for a century and a half, and this is the first contact anyone has had with anyone inside the borders. America has adopted an incredibly strict policy of isolationism, and not even radio waves go in and out.

But this phone, this little piece of obsolete technology, this has made it through. A miracle.

England gives a wordless cry at the phone, shouting in rapid English, swearing and cussing and demanding to know _just what the bloody hell is going on_ and _is this one of your twisted jokes you insensitive bastard?!_

It takes the other nations a minute to piece together the fact that America is dead.

One of their own has died.

And they didn't even know it.

HGH

Matthew, Canada, is the only one who puts together who Albert is. After Albert finishes explaining just what is going on to the others, he stops the phone broadcasting and instead talks to Albert privately. He speaks Siksika, a language spoken by the Blackfoot tribe that once resided on the border of America and Canada, and a language the two brothers shared alone. They used to have conversations in it to ensure that their guardians could not listen it.

It has been centuries since he last spoke it.

"Your name is not Albert, is it," he says. It is not a question.

"It is now," Albert counters easily in the same language.

"You are one of Alfred's states."

"Not exactly," Albert replies. "I have to say, we always expected that you had children. The territories are personified as well?"

Canada shrugs. "They might be. I remember meeting you before, though. David Christopher."

"Yes," Albert agrees. "But there is a reason we only call each other by our humans names now. Our lands are gone, and it hurts to remember. Most of the others' names were different enough from their land names, but mine…"

"David Christopher," Canada realizes. "DC. You were the capital."

"It's gone now," Albert says tightly. "It's burned to ash, worse than 1812. Thanks for that, by the way. I've never gotten to say that in person."

"I'm sorry," Canada says. It all he _can_ say. What do you say to a personification that is already dead?

HGH

None of the states take their training scores seriously. Louie goes in and sings a lewd song. George does a stand up comedy routine where he talks about airports for ten minutes and just confuses the judges. Isaac demonstrates how far he can spit.

The mentors are tearing their hair out when they see the scores. Ones, twos, threes. The highest is a four, for Carly from Three's dancing skills. The lowest is a Zero, for William from Twelve's forty-five minute lecture on how to kill oneself.

Amelia, who was tired that morning, crawled up on the ropes and fell asleep in an odd position. She receives a three.

She is oddly proud of that fact.

HGH

One day, William announces to his mentors, "We've entered an alliance with District Seven."

Their single mentor (as there are not any other living winners in District Twelve) is surprised by that. "I was under the impression that you'd made an alliance with District Nine."

"Oh, yes," William agrees. "We've done that too."

The man clearly does not know how to respond to this, so he just turns back to the bottle of spirits that lays in front of him. He wonders if this entire year has been a product of his drinking habits. That seems to be the only way any of this would make sense.

HGH

"We've entered an alliance with District Five," Alex says.

HGH

"We're in an alliance with District Eleven," explains Dorothy of Five.

HGH

"We're allying with District Seven," replies Gia from Eleven, the former state of Georgia.

HGH

"We're allies with District Ten," says Montie, the former state of Montana, now tribute from Seven.

HGH

"We just allied with District Three," Jebediah of Ten, former state of Oklahoma tells his mentors.

HGH

The end result is that no one is quite sure who's allied with whom, and the states are perfectly okay with that. The betting crowd isn't sure who to put stakes on and everyone is confused.

Some people still place their bets, but most are half hearted, expecting to lose.

But that's okay. Lots of people lose money every year on the Hunger Games. That's normal, right?

Albert wonders idly what would happen if he placed a bet on these being the last Hunger Games to ever take place.

Probably nothing good.

HGH

Amelia is raised to the platform where they start, standing on a small circle in the middle of nowhere, in front of the Cornucopia. She glances over at Alex who again gives her a friendly smile. Will the alliance they wanted actually hold up under the pressure of the Games?

The countdown begins, and after a terse few seconds, the cannon goes off.

There is no rushing forward. No racing for the supplies or fleeing into the woods. Instead, they all step off calmly, simultaneously.

"Whose is it?" Alex calls out. Amelia isn't sure what he means, but someone understands.

"Mine. Give me a second." The reply comes from Madeline from Nine. She crouches down and runs a hand over the earth. "There. No more trouble from those mines."

"Good. That's good." Alex cricks his neck. "Nice to be out in the open. Always wished we had more of this back home."

"This is my space," Madeline snaps good naturedly, like this is something done a thousand times before. "If you want greenery, plant it yourself!"

Alex laughs.

The immediate threat of the mines disabled, the other states have begun poking through the items at the Cornucopia. Some collect weapons and pass them out to those who fight best with them, others collect the food and pile it up to be divvied up later.

Amelia is surprised at the sheer amount of items here, but she supposes that most people wouldn't expect an alliance like this to form. There is no need to fight over them, there is plenty for everyone. For now.

After a while of sorting through everything, the states begin dividing the supplies up and placing them in the largest backpacks they can find. Most of them will be carrying two or three. Amelia, who is incredibly strong, she knows, offers to carry four. The others smile and thank her and offer her a fourth bag.

She smiles back. It feels good, this, to be helping.

HGH

As the states are packing in the arena, the people of Panem are watching in shock. The children are not fighting. The children are not dying.

This is not how it's supposed to be! The Games are supposed to be fun!

Where is the fun in this?

Panem watches in silence. He does not understand what is happening. All he knows is that something has gone wrong.

HGH

It takes only an hour for the tributes to finish their packing, and then it is time to set out. There is a moment of confusion over who is going to lead the way, but Madeline is quickly shoved into the spotlight.

"I don't understand," Amelia whispers to Alex. She likes Madeline well enough, but wouldn't someone from District Seven, who grew up around the woods like these, be better for leading?

"District Nine is like this as well," Alex replies. Amelia almost asks him how he knows before remembering the cameras on them and decides to just watch for now.

The twenty-four of them head into the woods, trusting in their leader to take them wherever they are going. There is a bit of silence before someone decides that enough is enough. Probably Louie.

Soon enough the whole group is chanting a marching song. Amelia has never heard it before in her life, but she picks up on it soon enough and is singing along just as loudly. They are singing and laughing and Amelia wonders if they just might get out of this alive.

They break for a quick lunch, and Amelia is surprised to discover she doesn't really feel tired at all. The states are chatting and laughing and occasionally bickering, and she lets the sound wash over her, and it feels so _good_ , so _right_ , so _familiar_ , but it has to end and soon enough they are back on the road.

"I wonder how long it will be until the Capitol bastards send some disaster onto our heads," Jeremiah from Ten muses loudly.

"Probably the same length of time it will take them to realize it won't work," George from Seven replies acidly, and Jeremiah laughs.

"They've already sent a few earthquakes," Madeline says abruptly, which cuts off all the laughing. She's looking tired, far more tired than the rest of them, and her voice is soft.

"No wonder you look exhausted," Dorothy from Five sympathizes.

Alex passes out his three bags to the people only carrying two and scoops Madeline up. "Here. Now you can still guide, but you don't have to walk."

"Thanks," she murmurs tiredly.

"Just tell us next time," Alex scolds her. "We don't need you dropping from exhaustion on us. We need you."

Madeline slugs him weakly. "So nice to be needed."

Alex just laughs.

HGH

That night, the watch is divvied up quickly, and those not watching drop off to sleep. Amelia has the two hours just before dawn along with Delilah, from Four.

Delilah is the former state of Texas. She does not like having her land taken away from her. She'd fought the Mexican bastards off and survived on her own for quite a while before joining the rest of the states. Those were some of the best years of her life.

But Amelia doesn't know this.

The two sit in silence as they wait for dawn, and then, just before the sun's rays poke over the edge of the trees, music rings out.

The loud music brings the others to wakefulness, and all blink blearily up at the sky. A voice rings out afterwards, reminding all the tributes that only one of them can win, and that they are not upholding the glorious standards of the Games.

There is a moment of silence, then Montie speaks up.

"Where was I when murder of _children_ became glorious?"

"Oh, you've forgotten," George says dryly. "It's children murdering children. That makes it all okay, then."

Montie socks him in the jaw, knocking him over. She's very strong.

For a moment, Amelia is worried that the alliance is over, then she remembers that the two are from the same district. Indeed, George hasn't gotten back up, and is just laughing on the ground.

Montie snorts, kicks him, and packs her things up.

"That was a shitty way to wake up," Louie complains.

"Oh, yes, the ' _you should all be killing each other and why don't you want to murder your friends?_ '?" Dorothy asks dryly.

"Well, that too," Louie agrees. "But I was actually referring to that awful song they call an anthem."

"We should sing a better one," Alex suggests before raising his voice. " _O-oh, say can you see… By the dawn's early light…?_ "

The others have all joined in by the second word, and soon enough four part harmony is echoing through the trees. The music makes Amelia smile. She doesn't join in this time-she doesn't know the words and doesn't want to mix anything up and make the beautiful music stop-but she does sit and enjoy the chords echoing around her.

HGH

"What was that anthem?" Amelia asks Alex later.

"It's an old anthem from before the civil war that created Panem," Alex replies. "This land used to be called the United States of America."

A pang shoots through her at the name.

"What happened?"

"A war. The states used to fight in politics, but this was much worse. Before anyone knew what had happened, the nation was torn apart."

Amelia can almost see it in her mind, almost hear the sobbing of a broken people.

"And then the bombs dropped. Killed a lot of people. In the end, the people banded together, created thirteen districts-that was a special number, because there used to be only thirteen American colonies-and placed themselves under the rule of the Capitol. Only the Capitol quickly began exploiting them. The people rebelled, only the Capitol won, and then the Hunger Games began."

Amelia shudders. "That's awful."

"Some of us still remember the country that came before, though," Alex says, his voice turning a bit lighter. "And we dream of the land that we could be again. Someday."

"I think that's beautiful," Amelia says thoughtfully. "I think I would like to live there."

"Trust me," Alex laughs, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you would."

"Do you know any other songs from before the wars?" Amelia asks.

"Oh, a few," Alex answers with a smirk. He raises his voice again and starts to loudly sing, " _Fifty nifty United States, from the thirteen original colonies, …_ "

Once again, the others quickly join in and they spend the rest of the morning singing old songs that the populace has forgotten.

HGH

Panem is furious. These ridiculous people are making a disaster of his Games! Now they are singing those songs… How do they even know them in the first place?

He has ordered the Gamemakers to send earthquakes, landslides, floods, everything he can think of towards them. But the earthquakes shudder and die, the landslides divert around them, the floods drain off, as though they are always walking on high ground.

Madeline is doing her job well.

The wild animals the Gamemakers release avoid the tributes like the plague, and even the mutations they send are wary. When forced to attack, a few of the tributes will break away and slaughter the animals before returning to the group.

They are like a pack of animals themselves. Friendly to each other, fluid in their movements, confident, cold, calculating to the outside. They are dangerous, and in more ways than one.

The cameras seem to always be broadcasting the wrong thing, and Panem is beginning to lose his temper. Heads will roll for this.

The cameras should not be showing these tributes cooperating. The Districts will see. And how long before they decide to cooperate against him? Before another violent and bloody revolution?

In the editing booths, Marilyn Jones snickers as she splices in another shot of friendly states sharing their food.

HGH

It is on the third day that it happens.

There is no particular reason, just a moment when Amelia sits down with them for lunch and it hits her.

"Oh," she says suddenly, the power locked away flowing into her. The part of her she has been missing without ever knowing it.

And then the joy turns to sorrow as she can feel the pain of her people torn apart. They do not know who they are, but she knows that they are not part of Panem, they are rebelling, they are _hers_.

She is the United States of America. And her people are dying.

Alex is at her side in an instant, and the others are not far behind, and they hold her close and whisper that they are all still here, and that everything will work out alright, and that she doesn't have to be sad.

Tears still run down her face.

But it helps.

HGH

The other nations feel it the moment this new America awakens.

They are watching it on the broadcast that Albert has hooked up to get the information to them, and it is strange watching this girl who will become America. She is so like Alfred, and nothing like him at all.

That third day, they are watching and they feel the moment the girl realizes who she is. What she is.

Canada tries to hide the pain on his face as he watches this girl, his new sister, awaken to the pain of her people.

They are a half a day from the edge of the arena, he suspects, and he is already sending troops to sneak across the border and pick them up. He will not lose another sibling.

England, Germany, France, Spain, a hundred other countries have all pledged themselves to help end this disaster.

Alaska and Hawaii, trapped outside the border when the war ended and left to fend for themselves, seem to be in pain watching their siblings together.

Canada knows they miss their family. He wonders if they will ever be together again.

HGH

The new America falls asleep after twenty minutes of her awakening, and Montie offers to carry her. The backpacks, much lighter after days of travel, are passed out amongst the rest to carry. She and Alex, still carrying Madeline, lead the way as they continue on.

Then she hears it.

It is a soft click, and she has to duck out of the way as a burst of fire shoots past where her head was a moment earlier.

Madeline cusses. The Gamemakers want to turn them back. She will not let them be deterred.

With a groan, she digs into herself and throws her arms into the air.

Cries fill the air as the ground falls out from under them. The states tumble into the hole a moment before the earth closes over their heads.

It takes a moment to realize that this is not a trap of the Gamemakers. This is Madeline trying to save them.

The stress and effort it has taken to bring them underground has left Madeline unconscious, now laying on top of Alex where they fell. The stumble around trying to get their bearings until Isaac pulls out several pairs of night vision glasses from his bag. There are not enough for all of them, but those that do have them pair up with those who don't to get them through this.

Alex glares when he finds himself partnered with Delilah. It has been a long time since their last political blow out, but they have never really gotten along.

At least he has the glasses.

Taking a look around, they can see exactly why Madeline passed out. It was not making the hole itself that exhausted her. It was making the _tunnel_.

They are pretty sure it leads out of the arena.

Madeline has made sure they will escape.

HGH

There are cameras that have fallen through the hole with them, so the Gamemakers are still able to observe the escape being made. Panem shouts orders to have guards sent to waylay them if they do get out.

He cannot figure out what is going on here. Where have these people come from?

Marilyn makes sure that the outgoing film includes all the shots she could find of the states talking about America. She wants the people watching to know.

She wants them to dream about America. Of becoming America again.

It is working.

HGH

When Amelia wakes up, she is America and it is dark. She can feel that Montie is holding her still and she can feel where they are.

The memories that have come to her are still disjointed, but she remembers being America. She remembers being strong. She remembers fighting in wars, she remembers falling apart, and she remembers the bombing of District Thirteen an instant before the bullet that ended her last life.

Montie shifts as she feels Amelia wake. "Hey, are you alright?"

Amelia is silent for a moment, lost in contemplation. Then…

"Did I use be a man?" she asks.

"Yes," Montie answers without hesitation. She is not one for softening blows. In this case, it is exactly what Amelia… no, _America_ , needs.

"Okay," she says.

Then she forces Montie to put her down. Because she is strong. She doesn't _faint_.

She just occasionally passes out.

HGH

When they reach the end of the tunnel, it is quickly apparent that there is no exit. Later Madeline will explain that she didn't want anyone finding their exit route, but the former state is still unconscious in Alex's arms.

Instead, they turn to America.

With a grimace, the new nation steps forward and runs her arm along the dirt wall ahead of them. She knows she can do this. She used to be able to, didn't she?

So she takes a deep breath, reaches for the power of the land within her, and _pushes_.

The dirt shatters violently outwards, and the twenty-four tributes stumble out into the night air. They are glad for that. If it were day, the sun would surely scorch their eyes after hours in the dark, but the moon is pale and silvery and just right.

"It's about time you got here."

The reaction is immediate as twenty-one pairs of hands reach for their weapons. (America is still in a bit of shock over everything, Madeline is still unconscious, and Alex is carrying her.) It takes a minute before they can recognize the figure in front of them.

England is standing in front of a hovercraft, arms crossed as he takes in the sight of the twenty-four tributes. His face is impassive, but they can see his eyes are filled with worry.

"You're Arthur Kirkland," Ginevra says, recognizing him from wars in the early parts of her history.

"Yes," he agrees.

"You're England," she says.

"And I would like to know just how you came across that particular scrap of information," he replies calmly.

"I would have thought Albert would have told you," Alex says. "Now, can I get on the hovercraft? I'm sorry, but Maddie here is getting a little heavy."

England frowns. "Sorry, kids, you may know a few things, but our priority is getting Amelia out of here. And humans aren't exactly welcome where we're going."

"Then it's a good thing we aren't human, isn't it?" George snarks as he pushes past him and through the open door of the craft.

"You aren't nations," he argues, following George as the other tributes silently form a sort of line and trail after him.

"Surprisingly large craft you've brought for rescuing just one tribute," Monty points out.

"Well, er, Matthew chose the craft-"

As England speaks, the door to the cockpit slides open, revealing a worn looking Canada. He looks tired and haggard, but he lights up upon seeing America.

The states move to give him room as he approaches his new sister. Soon they are standing across from one another, neither speaking. America looks nervous. Canada gives her a small smile.

"I hear you're my new sister."

"That's right," she replies.

They stand for another moment before Canada swoops in and hugs her.

"Never," he whispers, "do something like that again."

"I promise," she whispers back, hands tightening around the northern nation. After a moment, she asks him a question one that has been weighing on her mind for a while. "Are we still twins?"

"Always," he assures her. "Always."

HGH

England is clearly annoyed by the fact that even Canada insists on all of the tributes coming, not just America. Meanwhile, the states all seem to have different opinions on him, ranging from outright dislike (Ginevra) to indifference (George) to grudging approval (Dorothy). He sits next to Dorothy and stews while America and Canada fly the hovercraft towards their destination.

"You look unhappy," Dorothy observes next to him.

"Just frustrated," he replies. "America has clearly been hiding stuff from the rest of us."

"To be fair, she didn't know she was America until a few days ago," Dorothy points out.

"I know that!" he snaps. "But I was referring to before! We didn't know anything about the war, or Panem, and we don't even know who or what you guys are-!"

"We should tell him."

England's head snaps up to see Madeline, recovered from protecting them, leaning over the seat to talk to them.

Dorothy looks nervous at this. "I don't know. I don't think everyone would like that."

Madeline snorts. "Please. We'd never get anything done if everyone had to like it. And Ginevra and the other twelve would never agree to this. Ever."

"Maybe we should take a vote?" Dorothy asks.

"Not a bad idea," Madeline agrees. She turns around and cups her hands together. "HEY! Who votes we tell England?!"

Hands slowly rise, even, to her surprised pleasure, William's. "Right! Thank you!"

She turns back to Dorothy. "There. Go ahead."

"Make someone else do it?" Dorothy begs.

Madeline sighs, but acquises. "Alright. England, you know that America's name isn't just America, right?"

"What?" England asks, confused.

"Properly speaking, she is the United States of America," Madeline says. "And there are fifty states that make her up. We are (or were, at least) those fifty states."

England stares at her for a long moment, clearly not sure what to make of this.

Madeline sticks out her hand over the seat, and England instinctively takes it, clasping it in an awkward handshake.

"I am what was once known as Wisconsin. Nice to meet you."

"I was Kansas," Dorothy greets.

"I was Washington," George adds, from across the aisle. "The state, not DC."

And that opens the floodgates as everyone starts to introduce themselves to the shocked nation.

"I was Montana. It really is nice to meet you in person."

"I was Texas. I always knew Spain was lying when he told Mexico what a bastard you are."

"I was Pennsylvania. It's nice to meet you in person. Thanks for fixing the Liberty Bell."

"I was Virginia. Go fuck yourself."

And so on and so forth.

HGH

They end up flying across the ocean to land in England, everyone agreeing it is better to get further away from Panem while they plan the next phase of the rebellion.

"We could go in and _force_ them to listen," England suggests, slamming a fist onto the table the nations have gathered around to decide their next actions.

"I'd expect that kind of action from the old America, not you," France replies smoothly. "Perhaps we should go about a different kind of force."

"Just what are you getting at, Frog?!" England snaps back. "Don't tell me you're too cowardly to mount a proper attack?!"

"Perhaps I'm just showing appropriate caution!" France snipes. "We don't know what this Panem is capable of!"

America slams her fist on the table, causing everyone to look towards her, partially because she splits the table in half. She looks at the table in surprise.

"Uh… Oops?"

Germany sighs. "You wanted to say something?"

"Yeah," America agrees. "I wanted to say that you guys should stay out of this."

Everyone looks at her like she's crazy.

"I know this is hard to swallow," America goes on. "It's hard to explain, but I think my people need to do this alone. We need to find our spirit again, you know? The indomitable America."

"You can't actually think you can do this alone?!" England shouts. "We just got you out!"

"I know," she says quietly. "I'm grateful for that, but you can't help the revolution. Not now."

"What do you mean, 'Not now'?" France asks, but he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.

"Because," America replies, her voice aged and tired despite her young age, "it's already begun."

HGH

Charlotte Jones sits in her chair as she surveys the plans for attack. In each district, there are already rebellions beginning, and she is waiting for the signals to send backup to assist.

Once she was the state of Maine. Now she is a leader in District Thirteen, quietly planning the overthrowing of the Capitol.

She receives instructions from Albert, who similarly sits at the Capitol. They have a representative in each district right now, sending them constant updates on the rebellions.

Twelve was easy. So much hatred had built up there, and led by a young boy and girl, Katniss and Gale, they had easily overthrown the small number of military there. Already, Charlotte has sent assistance in the way of supplies and a small military presence that shoots down any sign of a fire bomb. They will not allow the tragedy of seventy-four years ago to repeat itself.

But the others are not so simple. Either they have a much larger military presence, or the people are scared to get up and fight.

Even so, the tide is turning.

Charlotte smiles as she receives word that District Eleven, with its large population, has forced its way to the mayoral building and is near to breaking through.

She presses a button on her desk, activating the microphone that will broadcast her instructions to the waiting soldiers.

"Send supplies and a few men to District Eleven. The rebellion has almost won. Keep it that way."

She does not need to check that they have obeyed. She knows they will. They want to win almost as badly as her at this point.

HGH

John Jones winks at his sister as he passes her by. She has just escaped the massacre that has befallen those working on the Games.

Marilyn winks back. Her part in this may be over for now, but the former state of Maryland is still planning to take part in the fight.

But John still has a part to play.

Once the state of Colorado, he knows this land. It is a land that was once ravaged for gold, once was part of the "Bleeding Kansas" territory, once slaughtered five hundred innocent natives.

It was also once a land of smiles, of skiing in the winter, of hiking in the summer, of sharing a joint under a beautiful sun.

Now it is once again a land of oppression.

He did not want to ever return to this.

John walks through the crowds, blending in in the way he always has, just another face in the crowd.

He soon reaches his target.

He slips in with a stolen security card, and it isn't hard to slip past the security systems from there. He walks straight through the halls, a single location in mind. This is the first time he has seen the halls in person, but he has run through the simulations a thousand times.

There.

The room is most unremarkable, and mostly empty of people. There are a few at monitors, one seems to be programing, another is working through a number of wires on a plate he has pulled off the side of one of the stations.

But John ignores all of them.

He walks straight to the station he needs, plugs in the drive he has brought, and watches as the program they have designed enters the computer.

It will take a few hours before anything comes of it, plenty of time to disappear into the crowds.

When it activates, the security around the city will all shut down.

All of it.

A smirk creeps across John's face as he leaves without a backwards glance.

HGH

The former tributes have no qualms about borrowing Canada's craft and stealing away while the nations are busy bickering with each other. While they have seen a lot, even they are uneasy with sending children, or what they consider children, into battle.

Canada waves them off, but makes them promise to come back.

The ride is agonizingly long, but America can feel it the moment they enter her airspace. The land itself seems to welcome her, saying " _Here I am. Here you are. We are one_."

She longs to take time to reacquaint herself with this feeling, to run her hands over the land and travel amongst the people, but there is no time.

She can feel the fighting going on beneath her as they head for the Capitol. She can feel the triumph. Her people are winning.

"How much longer?" she asks Alex, who is flying the hovercraft.

"Another hour, perhaps," he sighs. "We'll get there just in time, if I'm not mistaken. Albert says the defenses will deactivate then."

America tilts her head, for the first time noticing the thrumming feeling running through her, the messages that her children are constantly sending to each other, in order to coordinate this.

Yes, she can feel Albert. He tickles at the edge of her senses, but seems to send from her heart, and he is different than the others. She takes a moment to place the sensation.

"His name isn't Albert," she realizes.

"His name is Albert for as long as Panem exists," Alex says quietly. "He does not want to think of the past. It is too painful to him."

"Then we'll ensure that it isn't painful for much longer," she promises coldly.

This nation, this… _Panem_ , has hurt her children. She will show him why she was once one of the most feared nations of the world.

HGH

England is the first to notice that America is missing. He blusters about, shouting, but it takes a moment for the others to realize exactly what he's shouting about.

America is gone.

So are her states.

So is the hovercraft.

England shoots a murderous glance at Canada, who seems to be doing his best to ignore what's going on and simultaneously turn invisible. He has never had the trouble of being noticed before, and usually would be mistaken for America. But now that he is a she, that makes mixing them up much more difficult.

Despite the glare, Canada still pretends that he hasn't noticed.

As the others come around, the television they had once been watching the progress of the Games on flickers to life. Albert is on screen.

"Thank you for helping," he says. "The final assault has already begun."

"You should have let us help!" England snaps. "We could have helped you breach the Capitol, our troops could have prevented many deaths! It was stupid to go rushing in there! If you don't win, none of you will survive!"

"We have already lost twice to this monster," Albert replies, his voice weary. "If we lose this, for a third time, we do not deserve to survive."

His words send the gathering into silence. They have never heard of a nation going peacefully to his or her death.

"And are you ready to die, David Christopher?" Canada asks quietly.

"You well know that David Christopher died long ago," Albert retorts sharply. "I am but a ghost carrying out his last wishes. To see Panem fall and America rise again."

"I'm sorry," Canada says again. He knows what Albert is, even if the others don't yet. And he thinks that, perhaps, Albert is not as hopeless as he once was.

HGH

The smoke is thick as America walks through the streets. She is alone. The others have joined the fighting, but she cannot. Not yet.

Occasional shots fly past her, but nothing hits. And anyone who aims for her is taken down soon after by another fighter.

Soon, the building of the Capitol looms in front of her. The door is soldered shut, a desperate attempt to protect the lives of those within.

America will not let them hide.

She is strong. Even after all these years, the almost unnatural strength runs through her veins, and she uses this as she swings a fist towards the door. It results in a dented door and a bruised hand.

Scowling at the metal, she tries a different tact.

Drawing on the self defense training she has learned over the years, she draws up a leg, spins around, and slams her foot into the doors.

They go flying.

People within scatter, and a few raise guns on her, but she has eyes only for the man in the center of the room. He stands tall, but she can see he is shaking. He can't hold on like this.

America smirks. "Good afternoon. Long time no see."

"I thought I'd seen the last of you," he says coldly in an attempt to sound intimidating. It fails.

"Yes, I thought that as well," she admits, before opening her arms, as though offering a free shot. "Surprise!"

"The people in arena," he says suddenly. "Who were they?"

America sighs as she shakes her head. "Oh, Panem, you fool. You never guessed? Never knew? I suppose it's not completely your fault, they were always kept under wraps quite well."

"Oh, come now," comes a voice, and Panem spins to see Albert calmly descending from the stairs behind him. "You always were rather overprotective of us."

"Can you blame me?" America asks.

"Perhaps not," Albert admits as he draws a pistol from his pocket and aims at Panem. "We always were rather cute."

"Albert Jones," Panem whispers, facing the new threat. "Why are you doing this? I gave you a good job, food, and joy! What more could you hope to have?"

"I could have revenge," Albert replies. "I could have your head on a platter. I could have my people back, the people you _burned_ during the Civil War. When you burned _me_."

And somehow, Panem is able to make the connection between this man and a younger one standing in the streets as the fire around him grew, not moving, simply watching with tears slowly running down his face as he whispers, wordlessly to the storm and madness and explosions around him, " _Why?_ "

"You," he whispers. "You were there."

"I was once named David Christopher Jones," Albert says, his voice rough and harsh and choked with emotion. "I was Washington DC. I watched as you burned me, as you burned my heart. And now, I can do the same to yours."

Panem doesn't have time to react as Albert empties his gun into the nation's chest. And around them, the world shakes as explosions rock the building.

America has time to look up before the ceiling collapses on her.

HGH

"That was stupid."

Albert sits on a broken stone in front of the rubble that was once the Capitol building. The workers are still buried somewhere beneath with Panem, and neither one has had any desire to change that. Some probably did not deserve death, but there are always casualties in war.

Now America stands in front of him as he huddles under a bright orange blanket, with a cup of tea in his hands. (He doesn't particularly want the tea, but England, who showed up a few hours after the fighting ended, has insisted on it.)

"I'm not sorry," Albert says finally.

"You should be!" America snaps. "What were you thinking? Were you planning to go out in some twisted blaze of glory?!"

"So what if I was?!" he shouts back. "I don't have anything left! I'm dead, America, I died a long time ago, so _why am I still here_?!"

Albert squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to leak out, and for a moment can see the land that he once was, the people and the monuments, and the happiness that could be found there.

A hand touches his shoulder, shocking him out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see America's bright blue eyes gazing down at him.

"You're not dead, David Christopher. You never were." She takes a seat beside him. "The others… they died, in a way. They have another chance to survive, to take on parts of the land, but for a long time, they could have easily died and never reformed. They were the states, and the United States no longer existed."

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "But you aren't a state. You're so much more. You were the capitol, the very heart of America. And even now, you are that heart."

Albert stares at her, not entirely sure she knows what she's saying. "Me… the heart?"

"You are our dreams, our hopes, and what we could be. And maybe, someday, you can be our capitol again."

He looks down at the tea in his hands and slowly upends it. It pours out on the ground.

"I forgot," he says, staring at the brown liquid as it soaks into the earth. "I don't like tea. I tend to dump it."

Amelia laughs loudly, throwing her head back and letting her whole body shake. It is more than just a laugh, it is a release of tension, a hope that things might actually turn out alright.

After a moment, she stops, still smiling, and ruffles his hair. "Welcome back, Albert."

He smiles back. "Call me David. David Christopher."

HGH

England waits until America is alone again before approaching her.

"Are you alright?"

"Much better than I have been in a long time," she replies softly, staring off at the horizon. "Perhaps not entirely alright, but I will be."

The two stand in companionable silence for a long moment before England speaks again.

"We can help with the rebuilding process, if you want."

"That would be helpful. We could use supplies. District Thirteen is the only district in any position to make them right now, and it's not nearly big enough to provide for everyone."

England nods again before clearing his throat. "I… er, I'm not sure how well informed you are of Alfred's past-"

America cuts him off with a sharp, "I know everything."

England falls silent as the teen chooses her words carefully. "It took me a while, you know, to piece together the memories. But I do know who I was as well as who I am. And I'm also well aware of the relationship you shared with my predecessor."

"Oh."

They're silent again, England's face turning red as he tried to think of something to say. But in the end, it is America who speaks first.

"You want to have the same sort of relationship with me that you had with Alfred."

England looks away, anywhere but those sharp and knowing blue eyes, but does not deny it.

"I'm not Alfred," she says.

"I know," he quickly assures. He doesn't quite know how to tell her that what he misses the most are those captivating eyes, the ones she shares with him. Perhaps it's not entirely healthy, as he didn't know Alfred was dead until quite recently, but he wants her badly, in the same way he wanted him.

"No you don't," she accuses. "This body is too young for any of that legally speaking anyways. At least, according to my old laws. I'm not sure of the new ones."

England looks away. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I'm sure," she says dryly.

She regards him for a moment, eyes sweeping him thoughtfully before she continues.

"You'll have to leave soon to get more supplies."

"Yes."

"When you come back, we could have a meal together?"

He knows he shouldn't press his luck, but he can't help it. "Like a date?"

"Alright," she agrees. She begins to move away before turning back.

"Arthur…" she says, as though tasting the name. It is the first time he has heard her say his human name since she was reborn and the first time she has actually said it. It sends a shiver down his spine.

"Arthur," she repeats, as though deciding she likes it. "I should mention, even though this body is young and I'm not Alfred, you are still the same being America chose to love once in my memories, and there is no reason that you could not be so again."

England cannot keep the stupid grin off his face as he nods and turns to leave with several others to arrange transport of supplies.

 _ **FIN**_


End file.
